


stones to turn and stare at

by summerstorm



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Established Relationship, M/M, Obedience, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, first-time D/s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-05
Updated: 2012-07-05
Packaged: 2017-11-09 06:35:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/452408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerstorm/pseuds/summerstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sit down."</p>
<p>The window clicks shut as Derek turns around and says, "What?" His face is—hilarious, actually, but if Stiles is going to go through with this he can't allow himself to crack this early, let alone crack up. Cracking up is not something you come back from.</p>
<p>So he repeats, "Sit down," widening his eyes to let Derek know that this is really freaking easy to figure out if Derek just puts his mind to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	stones to turn and stare at

**Author's Note:**

> And so I continue to write Teen Wolf porn. Since it's a new pairing, let's call it breaking the ice. 
> 
> I wrote this for kink-bingo, for my orgasm denial and obedience squares (I'm going for a double line). It was also partly inspired by a kink meme prompt that asked for submissive Derek, but beyond that this fic and that prompt are nothing alike.

"Sit down."

The window clicks shut as Derek turns around and says, "What?" His face is—hilarious, actually, but if Stiles is going to go through with this he can't allow himself to crack this early, let alone crack up. Cracking up is not something you come back from.

So he repeats, "Sit down," widening his eyes to let Derek know that this is really freaking easy to figure out if Derek just puts his mind to it. There has to be a memory bank somewhere in there, behind all the sulking and scowling— ah, there it is.

Derek starts to ask something, a raspy, breathy word he leaves hanging to clear his throat. _Where_ , Stiles thinks is what Derek said, but it's not like lip-reading is his forte, so Derek could really say anything next and Stiles wouldn't know that he changed his mind halfway through a question or anything. 

Not even if Derek stares blankly at him forever before the full question comes out, which is kind of what Derek does.

"Where do you want me to sit?" he asks finally. His inflection lacks something. Conviction. Enthusiasm. Stiles was vaguely aware this wouldn't be a picnic—hell, if he'd thought it would be easy he wouldn't have waited this long to try it—but Derek was the one who asked for it, so a little interest would be nice. Even if it's just so Stiles can be halfway certain he hasn't picked the worst possible moment to start ordering Derek around. Like what if someone got hurt? What if something happened and Derek needs to be asked before he tells Stiles? Half the people Stiles knows have some serious trouble volunteering information.

Then again—"Bed is fine," he says casually, and turns his desk chair around to sit on it. He kind of jumped out of it when Derek knocked on his window. He's tried to explain the concept of 'doors' to Derek, but he gets how someone who's lived in either a broken-down train car or a burnt-down house for the better part of a year would have trouble with things like 'entrances' and 'standard human behavior.' Knocking is progress. Definitely progress. Stiles can only hope Derek would knock even if Stiles hadn't put a lock on his window.

Derek eyes Stiles's bed—which is made and not even messy—for a moment before sitting down on the edge of it, forearms on his thighs, hands clasped together between his knees. Stiles wants to point out that Derek didn't have a problem with that bed the last dozen times he came into contact with it, but it's probably not the _bed_ that's giving Derek trouble. 

Plus a small part of Stiles wants to pretend his bed is a lot more appealing when he's on it. Or in it. And that's the kind of thing Derek might agree with unprompted, but not if Stiles outright asks what's wrong with it. 

He drags himself forward on the chair, wheels rolling toward Derek until their knees touch. "Is everything okay?" he asks instead, because he feels like he should. And because he wants to know. Derek's not the only one who's out of his element here.

Derek raises his eyebrows. "No worse than it was the last time I saw you," he says, looking surprisingly judgy for a dude who's agreed in advance to do anything Stiles asks him to do. They discussed timeframe—as long as it's just the two of them and as long as they can both keep up with it, which Stiles chooses to believe Derek added for his own benefit and not Stiles's, because Stiles is pretty sure things would be a lot easier if he could tell everyone what to do for the rest of his life—and limits—some of which Stiles would _not_ have thought of on his own, and kind of wishes he never had—but there was nothing in there that meant Stiles couldn't order Derek to, like, fold his laundry, or do the dishes, or clean the garage. 

Stiles could totally do that. He could. And he would, if there hadn't been such a heavy slant toward sex in those conversations that he now feels more comfortable going there first.

And that is a freaking weird realization that he can honestly say he never thought he'd have.

It both helps and doesn't that, at some point while Stiles was thinking about taking advantage of Derek, Derek put a hand on Stiles's knee. He's rubbing it softly now, thumb making little circles on Stiles's thigh, and it's the kind of soothing that changes the focus of Stiles's tension instead of smoothing it away.

"Did I say you could touch me?" Stiles asks. It comes out pretty convincing, or at least convincing enough that Derek immediately moves his hand away, looking a little less bold. It eggs Stiles on, knowing there's a point down the line when Derek might drop the bad attitude. "You didn't answer my question. Is everything okay?" he repeats, enunciating slowly. He hopes—oh, god, he really hopes Derek's getting the implied _are you okay to do this?_ in that question.

"Yes," Derek says, through his teeth but loud and clear.

"You sure about that? You didn't wolf out on the way here? Nobody stepped on your tail? It's all cool?"

Derek glares in response.

Stiles nods, to himself mostly, and takes a step back, chair and all. He was already thinking about this before Derek got here, so he has a plan. Several plans, in fact. He could even mix and match bits of them all to form extra plans, if it came to that. 

He looks up and watches Derek watch him for a few seconds, trying not to narrow his eyes because this isn't a stand-off, and also Derek is on his bed, which Stiles can't really enjoy from a foot away unless his eyes are open. It's actually pretty nice that Derek can't reach out and pull Stiles to him; the closest thing Stiles ever gets to basking in the fact that he gets to have sex with someone who looks like _that_ on the regular is squirming while Derek 'takes things slow' (translation: teases Stiles to within an inch of his life), which is just not the same thing as sitting here, fully aware that he can do anything he wants to Derek. That he can ask Derek to do anything he wants.

Revenge crosses Stiles's mind, but then he's not sure he has that kind of patience, so maybe for now the straightforward approach would be best.

"You could start by taking off your clothes," Stiles suggests, his voice steadier than he expected. He wonders if he should add instructions, like whether Derek should get naked slowly or efficiently or what, but he kind of wants to test things out and see how they go before he goes into specifics. He's pretty sure he knows Derek better than anyone else who knows Derek, but that's not saying all that much.

"Is that an order?" Derek says. The corner of his mouth twitches a little, but doesn't go up. That's nice. That's so nice of Derek to not laugh at Stiles.

Stiles sighs. "Yeah, it's an order. What do you think I'm doing here, brainstorming?" That's pretty much what Stiles is doing. "Come on. I don't have all day." That, on the other hand, is true. "No, seriously, I don't have all day, Derek. If you don't cooperate, this whole façade is going to go—" He makes a noise meant to resemble a plane crash, and accompanies it with a hand gesture.

"You're showing weakness," Derek says. On the bright side, he's taking off his jacket. He's not being deliberately seductive—which means he's still being a little seductive, because clothes are coming off and Stiles has eyes—but he doesn't seem to be in a rush either. That's cool. Stiles can work with that.

"So what?" Stiles says when he remembers there's a question hanging between them. "I'm not leading you into battle."

"No," Derek says, starting on his shoes, "but if I'm doing this with somebody, I should be able to trust that they know what they're doing. Don't you think?"

"Well, I can definitely see how you'd look at me and think I'm just the right person for the job. I'd totally pick me to do this, too."

"I didn't pick you to do _this_ ," Derek says, sounding annoyed again. Stiles is pretty sure if someone's earned the long-suffering attitude, it's him.

"Uh, really? Because—"

Derek groans. "I didn't pick you to do this, I picked you period. And you don't have to pretend like you're any more experienced than you are, I can—" Whatever he says next is muffled when he pulls his t-shirt over his head. He's leaving all his clothes next to him on the bed, in a messy pile Stiles thinks he should do something about. He's just not sure what. "It doesn't have to be some big scene. You love telling people what to do. You're always judging everyone."

There's something truly, astoundingly bizarre about the fact that they're having this conversation while Derek's getting naked and, Stiles notes, never even moving to stand, not even to drop his pants. Interesting.

"That is not—" Stiles narrows his eyes. "—false, but—" He inhales sharply and forces himself to look up. Derek's down to his underwear. "Shouldn't you be folding those? Get a hanger for your jacket or something?"

Derek's only response is a pointed tilt of his head. One of his thumbs is hooked into the waistband of his boxers, but he stays still.

"Okay," Stiles says, and something about the word makes his chest feel lighter. "Okay," he repeats, breathing it out, and it is. It is okay. There's a lot of middle ground between complete domination and being a total pushover. Not that Stiles is a pushover. He just doesn't see the point in telling Derek to stop manhandling him when they're both enjoying it. "Definitely fold your clothes. Put them on top of my dresser. But stand up first. Take the _rest_ of your clothes off first, too."

Stiles moves a couple of feet further away, hands holding onto the edge of his seat already. If he stays close, he's not sure he'll be able to hold off from touching Derek. Especially not when Derek comes back to stand at the foot of Stiles's bed, stark naked, his dick half-hard from—absolutely nothing, because they've done absolutely nothing. Derek's always been kind of easy, but this gives new meaning to the word.

"Was there a point to that?" Derek asks. It has an edge, but mostly it sounds curious. 

"Are you going to question everything I say?" Stiles asks back, dragging his eyes up, up. There. "Do you want me to tell you not to speak? I mean, is that a—thing or...?"

"If you want to." Derek shrugs.

It's a tempting idea, but it's also a few steps closer to 'complete domination' than Stiles is comfortable with. Derek is already implicitly forbidden from touching Stiles or move without permission, and that's already a lot for Stiles to juggle. "Why don't you get on your knees?" Stiles asks of Derek instead. It seems like the thing to do. Stiles never gets to bask in this image, either; more often than not he has to choose between closing his eyes or coming way too soon, and he usually chooses closing his eyes.

It's only once Derek is kneeling on the rug between Stiles's bed and Stiles's chair and sitting on his heels that Stiles realizes he can't go that many places from here. He bounces off the chair and onto his feet, stepping around Derek, picturing possibilities. His brain is inconveniently slow. He's wearing an inconvenient amount of clothing. It's all very—inconvenient.

"Turn around, Derek," Stiles says, and Derek does, walking on his knees. It really should look and _be_ more awkward than Derek makes it. Stiles drops down on his bed. "Now you're going to—" He trails off, his hand reaching out to touch Derek's face, his shoulder, his prickly jaw. Stiles's thumb brushes across Derek's lips. Derek begins to open his mouth, but Stiles shakes his head and Derek presses his lips together, a deliberately tight line. "You're going to undress me," Stiles says softly, and swallows when Derek lays his hands on Stiles's stomach, doing quick work of every button he can reach.

Stiles was going to say something else, about being careful and touching only as much as necessary, but frankly that was stupid and not a good idea at all. Derek stays on his knees, but he's tall enough and the bed is low enough that he doesn't even have to reach. His hands are big and warm, and Stiles nearly forgets that he's steadily losing clothing until he has to lift his hips so Derek can pull Stiles's pants down. 

His briefs go along for the ride, and suddenly Stiles realizes his hands are on Derek's shoulders, short nails edging into skin, and for once he could just lean in and kiss him, so he does. He does and Derek straightens into it, letting Stiles set the pace but giving as much as, giving _more_ than he takes, biting at Stiles's lips as he fits himself between Stiles's legs, hands squeezing Stiles's hips.

"Get on the bed," Stiles gasps, feeling a little lightheaded, "on your back," and by the look on Derek's face he thinks he may have to repeat it, but then Derek's crawling up onto the bed and turning around to face the ceiling, and in less than five minutes this has gone from awkward and ridiculous to something Stiles is pretty sure he could get used to. 

Maybe making out can be a form of Dutch courage. Or something. French courage? Either way, Stiles thinks he could use some more of that, so he climbs up over Derek and kisses him again, lowering his body slowly. It's so weird knowing Derek's not allowed to roll them over and bury his head in Stiles's neck and rub his dick against Stiles's thigh. Derek stays right where he is, but he seems—relaxed, to the extent that anyone can be relaxed while they're hard as a rock and sweating from their own body heat alone.

It's actually kind of reassuring, and Stiles lets himself be reassured by that for a while, deepening the kiss and idly rocking his hips against Derek's.

"What do you want?" Derek prompts eventually, because, right, asking questions isn't among the things Stiles forbid. There's a philosophical answer to that one that would probably be easier to lay out than the real, direct, relevant answer, which is basically: he has no idea. It's not like there's anything Derek's ever said no to. Derek's actually pretty bad at saying no to Stiles, as a general rule, probably because Stiles's ideas are awesome. The real difference here is Stiles gets to know what's going to happen before Derek pins him to a wall and gets his hands on him.

"This is fine," Stiles says, shrugging with his mouth as well as his shoulders. It's—yeah, it's overkill, he doesn't need to see Derek cocking his head to know that. "I want—" he starts, and opts for doing instead of telling. He crawls off Derek to get lube from his nightstand, placing it in Derek's hand and moving to straddle his chest. His dick brushes Derek's chin, and Derek's lips fall open, following that contact. 

It's not that Stiles doesn't want it, especially when Derek reaches around him and slips a slick finger inside him—it would be so easy to let the head of his cock slide between Derek's lips instead of drag across them, so easy to lose himself in this, but Derek has this really counterproductive way of making Stiles come with his mouth on Stiles's dick and his fingers in Stiles's ass and Stiles isn't saying that's not fun or anything, it is extremely fun, but now Stiles has a chance to fuck Derek, to _ride_ Derek on his own terms and he's going to take it. 

Besides, Derek looks amazing like this, his lips glistening and his eyes glassy, his body going tense with the effort to stay put.

"So what part of this are you getting off on?" Stiles asks, for research.

Derek grunts noncommittally, his tongue darting at Stiles's cock as he slides a second finger inside him, which is really a very compelling argument, no doubt, but Stiles wants words, so he slips a hand over Derek's mouth, which—is not conducive to words. Sometimes Stiles's plans have flaws, okay? He's not _Lydia_. Also, Derek's crooking his fingers and it's kind of hard to think when he can barely stay upright. 

He rocks down onto Derek's fingers, drawing both his hand and his cock away from Derek's mouth, and Derek groans at the loss, his body jerking underneath Stiles like all this—like he could come just from this, from being denied things, and no, no way, Stiles is not allowing that.

"Wait, hang on," he says, yelping when Derek ignores him and hits the right spot again. "Hang on," he forces out, "you're not allowed to come yet," and Derek slows down—slows down a _lot_. Stiles is already half regretting this decision. "You can't," he says, shaking his head and reminding himself that this is what Derek asked for, and if Derek got this worked up over not being able to touch Stiles or suck him off, then Derek is going to love this, "not until I say so."

He hears Derek's long, sharp inhale, feels Derek's free hand dig into Stiles's hip. Stiles grasps Derek's wrist and pushes at it until Derek gets the hint and lets it drop on the bed.

"Hey, look at me," Stiles says. He drags his cock over Derek's lips to get his attention and shifts away before Derek can get a lick in. "Did you hear me? You can't come yet. Not unless I say you can. Okay?" He doesn't sound very authoritative—there's maybe a tiny little hint of begging in his voice—but, okay, it's fine because Derek said that's not the point. 

And Derek looks like he's fine with it—like, his face is set, his teeth are pressed together, but that's a good thing in this situation. Hopefully. And Derek mutters, "Okay," not like he's angry but like that's the loudest his voice is going to go and it's—it makes Stiles smile, which in turn makes Derek start fucking him with his fingers again so Stiles will stop.

Whatever, just because everything with Derek has to be super intense, that doesn't mean Stiles can't enjoy it on like, a happy joyous sort of level. "Okay, okay," Stiles says, "stop, I need to—" He fails to bite back a moan when Derek pulls his fingers out, and in retaliation he crawls down Derek's body slowly, falling onto his fists at both sides of Derek's shoulders and kissing him as dirty as he knows how as he rubs his ass over Derek's cock.

"Stiles," Derek breathes. It sounds like _please_ , and it makes something curl in Stiles's stomach, heat spreading up his chest. 

"Get yourself ready," Stiles suggests, and watches Derek swallow as he reaches near Stiles's knee. Stiles lifts his hips to give Derek room, and he's seen this before, but there's a level of tension in Derek's forearms that's entirely new, a real carefulness as Derek slicks up his cock that shows as concentration his face. Stiles leans down to kiss Derek again, biting at his jaw to distract him, and is rewarded when Derek lines himself up and gasps right into Stiles's ear.

Stiles sinks down slowly, not because he cares about making this easy for Derek but because it's what draws the most noise out of him, what makes him breathe loudest and grab the sheets because his claws are threatening to come out. Stiles probably shouldn't like that so much, because his life is on the line and everything, but it's one more thing Derek has to hold back, and it never occurred to Stiles that that could be anything but difficult and painful. 

Derek's eyes are closed like it _is_ painful, but if it's the same kind of pain holding back from sucking Stiles's dick causes him, Stiles has reason to believe there's an element of pleasure there. Also a newfound curiosity about Derek's ability to stay completely human on full moons.

"You can move," Stiles whispers.

"I didn't say you could try to kill me," Derek groans, but he pulls out a little—Stiles isn't giving him that much room—and thrusts in again. Stiles cooperates the second time, shifting his hips to find the right angle as he lifts them and sinks down again.

"Fuck," he chokes out, and, "I just said you could move, I didn't say it to be an asshole—" His jaw drops as Derek fucks into him, with real intent this time.

"Could have fooled me."

"You always think the worst of everyone," Stiles complains half-heartedly, settling into a rhythm and lowering his body so his cock drags against Derek's stomach every time he moves. It has the added benefit of being able to kiss Derek whenever it sounds like he's about to lose it; deep slow kisses seem to calm him down.

They don't calm down _Stiles_ , but hey, he's not the one who's not supposed to come until told otherwise. He can work with it.

"You should touch me," he says, "come on." Derek's face twitches a little, his hands staying where they are, and Stiles can't tell if Derek's worried about wolfing out—probably not, it hasn't happened before, why would it happen now—or if he's offended by the implication that he can't make Stiles come just by fucking him. "It's better when you're touching me," Stiles says, "plus the sooner I come, the sooner I'll maybe possibly say you can," and that seems to be enough of an incentive for Derek to reach a hand between their bodies and start jerking Stiles off in earnest, fucking into Stiles as hard as he can with Stiles still controlling the pace. 

Stiles is happy to match the rhythm of Derek's hips, though, faster and faster, dropping onto his elbows and completely losing what little of his brain-to-mouth filter was left against Derek's collarbone, all garbled nonsense as he comes into Derek's fist and over his stomach.

Usually Derek would fuck him through it, but this time he slows down until he's barely moving, just brief twitches of his hips every couple of seconds.

" _Stiles_ ," Derek growls after what can't have been that long; Stiles's brain is still reeling.

"Don't know what you could possibly want," Stiles slurs into Derek's shoulder, but he props himself up on his hands, lifts himself nearly all the way off Derek's cock and sinks down again. "Seriously, no idea."

"You're enjoying this," Derek says, like it's a _surprise_ , and Stiles is about to ask what Derek expected when Derek's hips jerk and his head tips back on the pillow.

Stiles wonders how much longer he could keep Derek hanging before Derek either loses it or goes soft. It's an interesting question, one he would like to explore some time in the future. Right now, he says, "So could you like, come on command? Can you do that?"

" _Stiles_ ," Derek says through gritted teeth. It sounds like a yes to Stiles, or a maybe.

"Like, right now," Stiles says, his voice lower, ducking his head into Derek's neck to speak right in his ear. "Come right now." Derek is still holding off, his hands tight on Stiles's thighs. "That's an order," Stiles adds cheerily, and feels nails dig into his skin as Derek's hips stutter and he comes, just like that, still buried inside him.

Stiles stays where he is for a little while, listening to the way Derek breathes it all in, breathes _him_ in. When he rolls off, Derek follows him with his head, nuzzling Stiles's shoulder, a hand stroking Stiles's stomach that Stiles is certain will slip down before long. "Still think that was a good idea?" he asks, and Derek looks at him with a frown.

"Do you want to do it again?"

"Uh," Stiles says, thinking it over, "yeah. We should—totally. Yeah."

"Then it went better than I expected," Derek begins, his voice low and tired, lips vibrating against Stiles's arm, "for both of us."


End file.
